


compass that leads to home

by enuniu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Light Angst, Not Romance, Other, Platonic Relationships, i legit just wanted to write something about Tommy alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enuniu/pseuds/enuniu
Summary: An introspection into Tommy’s post-exile and his feelings about a certain friend maimed with brown hairs and the tickling sensation of green eyes.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	compass that leads to home

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve have this in my docs for a little bit and I wanted to make it pretty long, but as the series kept going I didn’t know where i should stop. I wanted to write the broken bridge of Tommy and Tubbo’s friendship and how they would come to a pause before the whole last fight against Dream. I still wanted to show my work, so here’s the first part of it.

_ “He’s your Tubbo,” _

_ A pale shaky hand retrieved a small illuminated compass, glowing with embers of violets and blues, swirling the two colors to create an enchanted effect of something unknown and uneasily beautiful to Tommy.  _

_ The ghost in front of him smiled, small and low, crooked teeth of a man once powerful and terminated, held the object up high in the air—body see-through and a sad reminder that someone has been long gone.  _

_ Tommy eyed the navigator, it’s pointed red arrows taunting every move as it swished dangerously anytime the distorted figure’s body situated itself uncomfortably against frayed woods and a confused gaze. Fingers itching to grasp the tiny object and run its calloused palms over smooth metal and cold glass; the boy's mind trailed in different directions as the ghost in front only showed curved lips, indicating with a knowing look. The compass itself held a sort of familiarity yet such an unwelcoming presence he was sure his former leader’s crooked smile meant only something great and grand—just like everything else. _

_ Tommy coughed, “What are you talking about?” He situated the nerves skidding about inside and straightened his posture.  _

_ Wilbur—what’s left of him—only hummed in reluctance, as if he was calculating the kind of words to say and how exactly to form them. The man always knew what to say to the boy in times of need and desperation; for once when he was full of bright, stringed lights accompanied with coasters of laughs, Wilbur’s presence still held some note of it left behind. _

_ The ghost fiddled with the chain connected to bronze and responded gently, coaxing a silver-feather voice of comfort, “It’s a compass.” _

_ The blond scoffed.  _

_ “Of course it’s a compass, Wilbur. I mean—why do you have that?” Tommy decided to go against mentioning that name again. It was only a memoir of haunting words that led to his existence left on unknown planes, an obsidian portal a few grass patches away from somewhere far away he could never return to without the fear of darkness; of death. _

_ The air around them stilled, with breezes directing its way towards blond strands and tattered clothing; a red bandana wrapped around a dirty neck in hope to cover the mist of cold from dark nights to come. _

_ Wilbur’s style never changed. His signature beanie hung loosely from curled, brown hair and threatened to fall after every step but never ceased to hit covered ground, seemingly staying because of different physics in another world. A yellow crew neck only casted a noticeable sign that this man was still here, somewhat giddy and clam compared to vicious growls and crazed eyes for a country he could never have. In some odd, twisted way, Tommy preferred the remnants of a father figure he once had rather than the madman scratching at useless walls, craving for violence—even if death seemed to be the only way out.  _

_ The brunette smiled once more and this time, Tommy didn’t mistake it for complexity but rather fondness, something he’s hadn’t seen for a long time.  _

_ “This compass, Tommy, is special,” he held it up at eye level, showing off the bouncing colors emitting from the object, “I created it in a way where if you ever want to know where Tubbo is,” _

_ That god forsaken name— _

_ “This compass will lead you to him. It’s tethered to his soul, his body and when you need reassurance or comfort, this will lead you to him. No matter where you are in the world—” Wilbur pointed at the red arrows, pointed jagged triangles opposing the direction of north,”—you can always find your best friend.” _

_ Tommy’s nail dug crescent moons into his palms, fingers tightening and tiny muscles flexing at the thought of sandy colored hair and emerald eyes. Pink, rosy cheeks holding in sputters of laughter that always left the ghost of a smile—of something happy—on Tommy’s own chapped lips. The boy recalls memories of a back pressed against his, a familiar weight as an important reminder that somewhere in this world, someone is right there with him ready to attack demons filled with plagues and men painted in ambushes of green.  _

_ Everything that had been done, the two had done together.  _

_ Tommy exhaled shakily, limbs shivering at such a simple reference and yet, warm tear tracks had already found a home on his blotched cheeks. They burned as each drop paved a path down his face, sizzling and crackling against his fair skin and holding every piece of emotion he’d been holding back since that dreadful afternoon. Sobs threatened to escape the confined red walls of Tommy’s parched throat but he didn’t let their voices be heard—he couldn’t trust himself to stay upright in front of the dead man.  _

_ It seemed as though Wilbur didn't need any words from him to know exactly what stopped his once second in command boy from hollering any profanity in ignorance. He didn’t need to know that the blond’s red-rimmed eyes were a call for help or some sense of comfort in the frozen lands of nowhere.  _

_ The ghost traced the outlines of the compass, every bump and amateur scratch made skidded across fingertips not really there and a mind lost somewhere in the expanse of reality and subconsciousness. It is such an odd sight; Tommy exiled under horrible circumstances and promptly taken care of by his dead leader’s ghost—really, the teenager is sure his whole situation was just a mereless nightmare on a winter night. That maybe everything that had led to his life relying on skinned logs was something his brainless head had conjured up in hopes to ensure it was a wake-up call.  _

_ But it wasn’t. _

_ This is his wake-up call. _

_ Tommy jeopardized his position in his country and casted aside by the one boy he deemed important. He chose blood, red violence and suffered the long talking and meeting of whether he deserved a home in the mainlands.  _

_ He sighed, sadness creeping in faintly as he finally responded to Wilbur’s gift. _

_ “Give it to me,” _

_ Wilbur’s head peeked at the young boy’s voice, a sure smile coming along the way as his giddy hands stretched outwards to give to Tommy. _

_ As he delicately placed the item in the blond’s hands, he repeated—“He’s your Tubbo.” _

_ The ghost's hands simply overlapped with Tommy’s own, reflecting just how opposites they were; one shifting between a dreamless stretch of something beyond and below and the other filled with red blood pumping in between blue veins, covered with scars littered across pale skin.  _

_ The compass’s bronze metal felt cold and foreign to Tommy. As he firmly held the object, he concluded it must’ve been borrowed from previous owners, possibly the mysterious and charming presence of Ranboo or the stricken veteran of Phil. Though the glowing embers of violets that reckoned with blues showed just how enchanted it is, Tommy could feel the power against his own pulse. He could feel the raw strength of netherite combined with smelted ores and unknown words coursing through the thin glass and curled chains.  _

_ Tommy’s breath shook at the very thought that this compass leads to his best friend. _

_ Tubbo. _

_ He shifted his feet in different directions; left, right and then left, left left right, right right right, left right right left— _

_ No matter where he turned, the arrows pointed south. The exact trail he passed by when escorted by a man in a faceless mask and forbidden from entering the festive planks of his home, held marked footprints that couldn’t have been but his own.  _

_ The boy shuddered.  _

_ “This leads to Tubbo,” it came out shaky and curdled, but it showed exactly what he thought of his new profound present.  _

_ Wilbur nodded, pale eyes seeing through Tommy’s in a certain gaze. _

_ The blond wrapped the rusted chain around his wrist, securing it tightly. The compass swished around at every movement but didn’t dare to drop onto unholy lands. It’s scratched gold shining at the low set of the star above. _

_ Tommy peaked at the sunset casted amongst blue waters. The crystal clean liquid reflecting rows of trees tarnished in the shade of greens and browns, sea creatures floating about along the currents and caught tangled in families of bright corals squeezed in between old weeds. Tommy could hear the faint whispers of animals amongst the forest around, hiding and looking out at the same scene he was with one word on their minds—a word that maybe they’ve found already or still on the search for. Or maybe, a word they have lost. _

_ “Home.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed and I might just continue writing the inspection of this dynamic. I also don’t have much experience with writing and I didn’t have anyone beta read this for me, so please be kind and respectful. Though I gladly take criticism.


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